M is for Migraine
by whumpertrooper
Summary: Living in the same household as your boss can have it's downsides. Especially when you have a hard case and a raging headache. Just a little sickfic for my A to Z Charlie Whump series.


_**A/N: **This one is a little bit out of the alphabetical order, but I managed to finish it before the others and wanted to post before I could change my mind about it :D Just a simple sickfic. Hopefully the characters aren't too OOC. The views about migraine at the time were different than they are now, especially before the 1960s. So the reaction of some characters in the story reflect that. __Set after the end of season 5 but before the telemovie. I'm still taking prompts and the next fic should be letter E. I hope you enjoy the read._

* * *

**M is for Migraine**

Charlie knew he had messed up, but really, who could blame him. Ever since he was knocked over the head last Christmas he suffered from occasional bouts of headaches. So when he woke up this morning to a familiar twitch in his temples, he brushed it off as a simple nuisance. After all, they had a case and both Lawson and Blake were all pumped up to solve it. The thing was, both men knew who was the killer. Well, they were pretty sure it was the wife of the dead farmer. Trouble was there was no clear evidence. The woman didn't even twitch during the interview where Lawson grilled her for several hours and they were forced to let her go. Her derisive smile as she walked out of the station, free as a bird was the last strain on the camel's back. Lawson became obsessed with the case and swore up and down that he would get the woman behind the bars, if it was the last thing he did.

Blake took it as a personal challenge as well, as he was due when there was a case that was slipping through his fingers. What that meant for people at the station was having to deal with a snappy boss and constant running of errands, looking for evidence. Mostly taking statements and looking for a witness. What it meant for Charlie personally was a never-ending work day. Everyone else at least had a chance to go home and enjoy some peace once the clock turned five. And go they did. Charlie spotted even Hobart fleeing the station as soon as Lawson turned his back. Unfortunately, Charlie didn't have that option. When he clocked out, it was to go home. Eat dinner at a table while conversing about the case, then sit in the living room or Blake's office and talk into late hours, trying to figure out their next step. Occasionally, he was sent out to talk with one person or other, or spent half an hour on the phone trying to get a name of a possible witness.

It was exactly six days from the murder of Bill Dighton. Six days that Charlie kept driving around Ballarat and the neighboring towns, trying to find a witness who visited the farmer's market on Sunday and had seen the woman in a specific dress, but at the same time who could tell that it wasn't the woman on the photograph Charlie had in the pocket of his uniform. So far no luck. Everyone remembered a woman in said dress walking through the market, stopping by their booth and even buying some produce, but everyone was also focused on the bloody red dress with a large cleavage rather than the face hiding under the red sunhat.

That had also been the case of a married couple Charlie had visited on this late Friday afternoon, a whole hour ride away from Ballarat. They couldn't say anything helpful as Charlie had already anticipated. But it was frankly easier to drive all the way and ask them than try to argue with Lawson that they should perhaps start looking at the case from a different point. Charlie assumed that's what will be awaiting him tonight.

He sighed and rubbed at his temple, willing away the pain that didn't relent through the day. Now he wished he would've asked the couple for some water before he got back into the car. It was the peak of the summer and even though the sun was slowly setting, Charlie was hot. He had already drank all the water he brought with him in the car, yet he had almost an hour of a ride ahead. Well, there was nothing to it. He wasn't about to turn the car and drive another fifteen minutes back for a glass of water.

He would just have to hope his head won't explode before he reached home. Then he would hope that by some miracle Lawson decided to take a break from the case for the weekend or took Alice out for a date. He doubted he had that much luck, but a man could dream. The idea that the house would be blissfully empty and silent when he arrived so he could just go and crash in his bed for the foreseeable future had kept him going for another twenty minutes. Then there was a feeling as if something had clamped down on the right side of his head and squeezed. Charlie hissed and cursed, pulling the car to the side of the road instinctively. He had to take a few seconds just to breathe through the sudden nausea and pain, one fist pushed hard against his eye socket as if that could keep the pain at bay.

Breathing in, Charlie let the fisted hand fall into his lap and looked at the road ahead. He already knew what he would see. The road in front of him looked normal. Straight, heading home, towards his wistful bed. What wasn't normal was the bright spot right in the middle of his vision, slowly moving to the side. It was as if he'd been glaring into the sun for too long. Charlie blinked, trying to clear his eyes, even though he knew it was futile.

"Damn," he sighed, leaning his head against the wheel, for a moment feeling utterly sorry for himself. He messed up. He should have known that it wasn't just a normal headache after it didn't go away even after the aspirin he had instead of lunch. But he foolishly hoped he was past this. He ignored the signs and ignored the golden window he could've used to put a stop to it. And now he had to pay the price.

With a sigh, Charlie turned the engine back on and drove the car towards home. He wanted to step on the gas and cut the time to half, but he was aware his reflexes were shot to hell and driving slower could save him from an accident. Even if it meant taking longer to get to his bed.

Half an hour later, Charlie could almost cry in relief when he saw the familiar house. He parked the car and took a minute or two of just trying to make up the courage to get inside the house. To push the pain back and act as normal as possible. Because there was no way in hell he would let his boss see him like this... to think of him as someone so weak.

He might've taken just a tad longer to get out of the car than he planned however, as the door to the house opened. Jean stood there with a look of concern on her face. Charlie shook off the urge to just lie down in the back of the car and not move for the next twenty four hours. Instead he took in a calming breath, put on the long time unused mask of 'I'm perfectly fine' and stepped out of the car. He was thankful for the fact that the sun had set and it was already getting dark, so Jean most likely didn't see him swaying as he stood up. Though maybe he wasn't as sneaky as he thought.

"Charlie! Are you alright?" Jean asked as soon as he reached the door.

"What?" he asked a bit taken aback. "Of course. Sorry for being late for dinner, I was-"

"Working, yes, I know," Jean sighed, running her hand up his arm as he walked past her. Charlie smiled, appreciating the gesture more than she could've thought.

"They're at it again?"

Jean just rolled her eyes.

"I had to listen to it for the whole dinner. I swear, if they don't solve this soon, I'll either drag that woman to the station myself or ask her for the best way to get rid of a body. I've had just about enough of this nonsense."

Charlie grimaced in sympathy as well as in pain. It didn't sound like either men were about to give up and he really didn't want to stay up half the night listening to new and more insane theories. He just wanted to curl up in the bed and either die or get some sleep. Whichever came first, he wasn't that picky.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I was hoping to get some good news, but it looks like another dead end."

Jean sighed and closed the door behind them.

"You'll figure it out eventually. I just wish it wasn't the main topic of every discussion. I love Lucien and I am fine with Matthew living with us, but I swear having those two under the same roof can be trying at some times."

"You are telling me?" Charlie said with a smirk, then sighed as he heard his name being called from the living room.

"I'll have to tell them the news... or rather lack of them." Charlie headed there, feeling like he was walking to his death. Decapitation right now didn't sound so bad though.

"Well, don't let them grill you too much. I've put away some dinner for you, it should still be warm."

Charlie bit his lip, pausing.

"Thank you, but... I'm really not that hungry," he said, giving Jean an apologetic look. Her eyebrows turned into a frown.

"Are you alright? You do look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Charlie said quickly so as to not arise suspicion. "But I spent half the day driving around in this heat, and it kind of killed my appetite. I'll just grab something to drink."

Jean nodded.

"I have soup there as well... chicken noodle, your favorite."

Right now Charlie couldn't imagine swallowing anything but cold water and about a handful of aspirin, but he also knew taking the meds on empty stomach wasn't a good idea. Not to mention that he didn't want to seem ungrateful. He knew how much effort Jean put into her cooking, as well as how happy it made her when others acknowledged it.

"I might try a bit of soup," he relented and was rewarded with a smile.

"I'll put out a bowl for you. Do you want something to drink? Coffee, tea or maybe a bit of Sherry?" Jean added with a wink and Charlie thought he could maybe use something stronger.

"Just water is fine, thanks." Jean nodded and scuttled off to the kitchen. Charlie knew normally she would be in the living room, taking a sip of Sherry after dinner and relaxing in Blake's arms or maybe crocheting in the armchair while the men talked. Lately though she was also happy when she could do just about anything but take part in the 'detective' work going on. Charlie sighed, wishing he could also just leave without a need to find some excuse.

Bracing himself, Charlie entered the brightly lit living room and barely paused from wincing. Blake was playing with the keyboard on the piano, occasionally hitting a false note as if in response to Lawson's new theory.

"About damn time," Lawson spoke when he saw Charlie. "Well?"

"Sorry, boss. Took a bit longer to get there than I thought," Charlie said softly, cringing when Blake played a rather high note before giving up on the keys and turning towards Charlie.

"Ah, Charlie. Any luck?" Blake asked a bit too cheerfully for Charlie's liking. Or maybe it was just the headache talking.

"Unfortunately, no."

Lawson groaned and the smile on Blake's face got a bit smaller. But it didn't look like the doctor expected anything else, as his nod confirmed.

"Same story. They saw a woman of that description, she bought some grapes and left. Neither of them had really seen her face because of the hat. She had no accent, spoke only two or three words. No identifying marks."

"When you showed the photo?"

Charlie shrugged.

"They both said it could've been her, but they wouldn't bet on it."

"Maybe we would have better luck if they actually heard her talking?" Blake mused and Charlie sighed. Yes, he thought that getting all the twenty or so 'witnesses' to Ballarat and letting them listen to this woman might help. But it might as well not. He was quite aware that most of the man that day had been paying attention to only one thing... and it wasn't her voice or face. And the few women he talked to, well. Charlie had a feeling that they might say whatever would get their suspect in trouble, just out of spite.

"I don't think we can get a reliable witness, boss," Charlie said frankly and rubbed at the back of his neck, willing away some of the tension. He was trying hard not to squint or grimace, but it was proving to be harder and harder.

"Well, do you have any better idea, Charlie?" Lawson snapped and Charlie was just about to reply, because hell yeah, he had. Maybe try looking for a motive or try and come up with a non-existing witness to get a reaction out of the blasted woman? Or maybe just take a break from trying to crack the case and get some rest. But before he could say anything, Blake had stood up and walked towards him, giving him a quick once over, then turned towards Lawson.

"Why don't we let Charlie get some dinner first? And maybe a shower. I'm sure all the driving around in this heat wasn't exactly fun."

Charlie wasn't sure whether he should thank Blake for a way out, or be offended by the veiled comment that he stunk and needed a shower. In the end, the just decided to take his chance. He nodded his thanks and headed towards the kitchen.

"Don't dilly dally too much, Charlie. I still want to hear what exactly did those witnesses say," Lawson called out after him and Charlie couldn't even try to hide his groan.

"I heard that!" Lawson called out.

"Come on, Matthew. Give the boy a break, he looks about done in," Charlie heard Blake say and he grimaced. Great. While he appreciated Blake's concern on his behalf, the last thing he wanted was to make Lawson think he wasn't up to his job. Ever since Christmas, Lawson was giving him weird looks. He wasn't sure if it was because the boss was worried he still suffered some effects of the concussion, or if it was because Rose had stood up for him and Lawson was now wondering whether the two were together or not. Not that Charlie knew any more on that topic, to be honest. His relationship with Rose was at that strange point where they flirted constantly but didn't go beyond friendship. And neither seemed to be sure if they should go a step further or stay where they were. So clearing that up for Lawson wasn't exactly Charlie's top priority at the moment.

But all of this was irrelevant. He had to figure out how to excuse himself for the night, without drawing too much attention. Because as he was entering the kitchen and his nose was hit by the otherwise delicious smell of food, he knew one thing. There was no way he was going to stay upright and having a discussion much longer, never mind making any sense. While the smell wasn't so terrible, Charlie felt the nausea rising with each pound of his heart as it reverberated through his skull.

He forced himself to sit down behind the table as Jean proudly put a soup plate with steaming hot chicken soup in front of him. Charlie thanked her, his throat already closing up a bit at the sight. Well, he was thirsty at least.

Grabbing the spoon, he swirled it in the soup and made sure to get clear broth. He took a sip... swallowed... then decided he would have to either fess up or come up with a ruse to get Jean out of the kitchen long enough so he can pour the soup back into the bowl.

Charlie chanced a look up and froze. Jean was standing with her back to the stove, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. Charlie felt the single sip of broth sitting in his stomach hard like stone.

"What?" he asked, blinking. Did he do something wrong? Was Jean also angry with him? Charlie felt tired, his brain refusing to work at even half capacity.

"I was just wondering whether Lucien used that soup as another of his experiments, because you turned an interesting shade of grey."

"Huh?" Charlie really didn't have an answer to that. He just looked at the bowl, for a second entertaining the thought that Blake indeed poisoned it. Then he realized Jean was being sarcastic.

She sighed, then let her hands down and pulled out a chair next to Charlie. She sat down and raised an eyebrow in question. That was it. All the interrogation technique she ever needed, brought to perfection by living in Blake's household for the last few years.

Charlie put down the spoon and pushed away the plate with a sigh. Fessing up it was it seemed.

"I'm sorry. It's... the soup is good. I just... I don't feel that well."

He looked at her, his eyes begging her to let it slide and maybe just leave him in peace for a few minutes. But she wasn't Blake's fiancé for nothing.

"How can I help?" she asked and Charlie blinked. He didn't expect that. Maybe a dozen questions or rolling of eyes. Instead she let him decide what he needed. Not that he knew.

"It's... just a headache. I need to lie down but the boss wants to keep going and..." Charlie shrugged. And the eye roll came as expected.

"You're not at work, Charlie. Just go to bed. Matthew can't boss you around during your free time."

It sounded so simple. So logical.

Charlie wished it was true.

"It's not that easy," he muttered, and leaned his head onto his hands, thumbs massaging the bridge of his nose.

Things weren't that simple ever since Lawson pushed him out of the way of a speeding car, suffered a broken leg that left him with a permanent limp and which had a drastic effect on his work life. And even though Lawson never once threw it in Charlie's face, didn't even hint it, Charlie still felt guilty about that. Because he should've reacted first. He should've noted the car, and stepped out of the way. He should've been the one pushing Lawson into safety. So no, things weren't that simple. Because ever since, Charlie felt like he owed the man. And since there was no other way for him to repay... Lawson didn't keep stepping in front of driving cars so Charlie could push him away... Charlie felt he had to do whatever was asked of him. Or at least try.

But even he had his limits and as another vice seemed to squeeze his head, he admitted defeat. This definitely wasn't the hill he wanted to die on, especially knowing they won't figure out anything new tonight.

Charlie didn't even notice that Jean was moving until she put a glass of water in front of him. He raised his head a bit, then reached for the glass.

"Thanks," he muttered, trying to keep his own voice as quiet as possible. Noise was usually the last thing that started to bother him before the worst of the pain hit. He knew he didn't have much time to get himself upstairs.

Charlie took a few sips of the cold water, at the same time wishing to gulp it down thirstily, but also aware of his stomach acting up. He sipped slowly, then put down the empty glass and looked at Jean, eyes squinting slightly.

She was watching him thoughtfully before coming to a decision of some sorts. She sighed.

"Go upstairs, Charlie. I'll make sure Matthew won't bother you tonight."

Charlie grimaced. That was exactly what he didn't want to happen. But it was also the thing he needed.

"Don't. I'll just... tell him I need a break or something." He stood up just a bit too quickly. There was a stab of pain in his head and he winced, one hand clutching heavily at the chair. Jean huffed, reaching out to him to steady him.

"Nonsense. Last thing you need is a ton of questions. Go on... upstairs. Did you take some painkillers already?"

"No," Charlie hissed in reply, aware that shaking his head would be stupid. He watched as Jean opened a cabinet and pulled out a small glass bottle from behind a pack of flour. She shook two pills out onto her palm and handed them to Charlie. At his confused and rather concerned look, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's just aspirin. A glass of Sherry can get me only so far with the things that are going on in this house."

Charlie wasn't sure if he should chuckle or keep being concerned about the fact Jean kept a bottle of aspirin handy in the kitchen. In the end he took the pills and dry swallowed them before she could even give him another glass of water.

"Thanks," he muttered, then rubbed at his eyes. The golden streaks of light from the center of his vision kept spreading towards the edges, making everything blurry. "I need to lie down," Charlie mumbled and without anymore prompting headed towards the stairs. The case or his dignity might be damned.

* * *

Lucien had moved from the piano to his favorite chair, the glass with whiskey already empty. But he didn't felt the need to get buzzed. This case was troubling him, more than usual. And it wasn't even that he felt sorry for the victim as much as the sheer nerve of the woman. She was playing with them and she was enjoying it.

This was a challenge and it felt hell of personal.

While Matthew was looking sour, muttering about his last encounter with the woman and already planning their next step, Lucien listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen. The voices were hushed and he heard somehow heavy footsteps on the stairs, followed by the familiar steps of his would be wife.

He looked at the doorway and felt his lips stretch in an involuntary smile. He couldn't help it, seeing Jean always made his mood that much better. And frankly, her presence was a welcome relief from their sour mood.

He moved his arm in an open gesture and Jean waltzed towards him, easing down on the armrest of the chair, one arm resting over Lucien's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, running his palm up and down her back in a gentle caress. Jean leaned into the touch and Lucien would've sworn she was about to kiss him, when they were reminded of the presence of someone else.

"Where is Charlie?" Matthew asked and Jean tensed minutely under Blake's touch. Lucien looked up at her, curious at the reaction.

"Hopefully already in bed," she said in a tone that attempted to be nonchalant, but to Lucien's ears sounded like a warning.

'_Thread lightly.' _

"Bed? It's barely eight! And I needed to talk to him."

"What's wrong, dear?" Lucien asked, ignoring Matthew's comment. Jean pursed her lips (another warning sign), then turned to face him.

"He has a headache, so I sent him to bed."

"Headache?" Matthew snorted. "Who doesn't have one with this mess of a case?"

Jean rolled her eyes. Blake frowned, wanting to ask if there was something else going on. He could tell that Jean was in her protective mood just by the set of her shoulders. But Matthew didn't seem to be aware of that, which was a shame.

"Well, can you tell him to come down for just a minute? I need to know what those last two witnesses said word by word, preferably before he forgets it."

"He's not feeling well," Jean insisted.

"Well, Bill Dighton isn't feeling any better, what with being dead. Charlie can suck it up for a bit and come help us."

Blake was aware of two things.

One... Matthew had just made a fatal mistake. He didn't read the room and let the stress of the week get the better of him, thinking he was safe. That wasn't true.

Two... Jean was quick and dangerous when in protective mood. She sprung up to her feet, hands on hips, a furious look crossing her otherwise lovely face.

"Matthew Patrick Lawson!"

Lucien cringed, knowing this was not going to end well, especially not for his friend. He wanted to run away, but at the same time he couldn't pull his eyes away from Jean. She was so fierce and sexy and damn it... Blake wished for once they had an empty house just for themselves.

Matthew finally seemed to realize he might've just poked a nest of hornets with a too short stick. But it was too late to step back and Lucien thought the man might even welcome a bit of a conflict, just to let out some steam.

"Now listen to me. You are bossing the boy around ever since you moved in."

"Well, I _am _his boss," Matthew argued, a bit taken aback. He also managed to totally ignore the warning look Lucien was aiming his way. Oh well. No help for the wicked.

Jean's frown deepened.

"I didn't know this was a police station. Far as I know, there is no chain of command in this house. Or shall I start saluting you before making dinner?" Jean asked, one eyebrow raising up in warning.

Matthew froze. He looked at Lucien for help. Lucien just shrugged and stood.

"I think I better go check on Charlie," Lucien said and made it as far as the door when he heard Matthew snort.

"Well, seems that there is one boss after all."

All possible feelings of guilt for bailing on his long standing friend evaporated from Lucien's mind. Matthew definitely deserved what was to come, Blake thought with a smirk as he left the two in something reminiscent of a Mexican standoff.

He could hear Jean 'gently' explaining to Matthew that maybe they all deserved a break from time to time and realized that Jean wasn't talking just about Charlie. Maybe they did indeed focus on this case just a bit too much and Charlie wasn't the only one affected by it.

Lucien reached Charlie's room and knocked on the door. There was no response but he didn't want to head back downstairs without making sure the boy was indeed alright. After all, Jean wouldn't have overreacted this much if she hadn't been truly concerned.

Lucien opened the door to peak into the room, half expecting to find Charlie asleep in bed. Instead he found an unmade bed and an empty room. A bit confused he turned back to the hall and noted the bathroom door was closed. He stepped closer and heard the sound of running water. Deciding it would be better to just wait there instead of going back down into the battlefield without any information, Blake leaned against the wall.

After several minutes he started to wonder if he shouldn't just check in on Charlie. After all, the headache could've been a sign of some complications after the concussion Charlie suffered during Christmas. Blake had decided to go on, risking being called a mother hen rather than finding Charlie dead on the floor in a few hours time just because he didn't check.

The door opened as he was about a meter away and Blake paused mid step, facing a surprised looking but definitely alive Charlie.

"Uh... Doc?" Charlie uttered, a splotch of crimson appearing on pale cheeks. The hair on his forehead was wet as if he splashed water on it. Charlie pushed the door more open and stepped away, to make way.

Blake shook his head.

"I was actually looking for you," he said and Charlie blinked.

"You need me for ... something?" he asked and it was obvious he wasn't feeling well. Charlie was trying to keep his voice low and he kept looking at the floor, squinting against the light in the hall. Blake wondered how he even managed to get himself home in the state he was in... or how neither Blake or Lawson seemed to notice it before.

"Jean told us you weren't feeling well," Blake said, adjusting the tone and volume of his own voice. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Charlie bit his lip and gave Blake an elusive glance.

"I'm fine, Doc," he said and started walking towards his room. Blake could see he was struggling to keep his head up and walk in a straight line, his right hand reaching out to get some support on the wall momentarily.

"I can see that," Blake muttered as he followed Charlie to his room. They made it barely past the door when Blake had about enough. He took hold of Charlie's arm and steered him towards the bed.

Charlie sat down with a heavy plop then let out a sigh. He was sitting stiffly, hands clutching the edges of the mattress as if trying to keep from toppling over.

"I'm fine Doc... just leave me alone please," Charlie said through gritted teeth even as Blake stood in front of him with a regarding look on his face.

"I can't in good conscience do that, Charlie. I made a Hippocratic oath after all."

Charlie gave him an unimpressed look and Blake rolled his eyes.

"Alright then. Jean is just ripping Matthew a new one for daring to suggest you got bored with our nightly detective work. I'd like to go back down and be able to tell them you're alright... or risk my lovely fiancé's wrath. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Charlie blinked. It seemed he had trouble following everything Blake said, but he caught on to Jean being angry and grimaced.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized and Blake shook his head.

"Nothing to apologize for. Matthew just put his foot in his mouth."

Charlie let a small grin touch his face.

"I wish I'd seen that," he muttered, then winced, reaching up towards his temple.

"Headache?" Blake asked and took hold of the arm before Charlie could put it back down to resume his deathly grasp on the mattress. He checked the pulse and frowned when all he got in reply was a grunt. "Are you nauseous?"

"I just need to lie down, Doc," Charlie said and tried to pull his hand away. But Blake held on until he finished taking the pulse, then despite Charlie's protest reached up and checked for fever.

"You're clammy," he noted.

"Splashed my face with water," Charlie grunted and it was obvious he wanted to protest the attention, but after a moment he gave up. Slumping a bit, Charlie let Blake check his eyes and prod him without another word of protest.

"Did this headache come up suddenly?" Blake asked once he was done with the basic exam and he sat down next to Charlie, who had leaned over and rested his head in his hands, elbows on knees. There was a longsuffering sigh and Blake had to stop himself from patting him on the back in encouragement. He had noted that Charlie wasn't reacting to touch so well this moment.

"'t was building," Charlie muttered. "It'll pass."

Blake wasn't so sure about that. It might've been just a normal post concussion headache, he knew Charlie had a few of those during this month, but this one looked different. Worse.

"I'm just worried it might be a sign of something we might've missed before," Blake admitted and Charlie gave a slight shake of his head.

"No. It's... happened before," he admitted, slowly, as if he needed to chew through the words.

Blake frowned. He wasn't aware of headaches in Charlie's history.

"There's no mention about it in your files," he said out loud. He should know, he was Charlie's physician after all.

Charlie shrugged.

"Comes and goes. Just... migraine."

Blake paused. Yes, of course. The symptoms would definitely fit that. Though it still didn't explain why there was no mention of it in Charlie's files. But that question could be left for later.

"Have you had them before?" he had to ask.

"As a kid, yeah," Charlie said, his voice sounding strained. His whole body looked tense and Blake could see he was about at the end of his rope. It was time to help. The how's and why's could wait for later.

"Did you take anything for the pain?" Blake asked, all practical now that he knew what he was dealing with.

"Jean gave me... aspirin."

"Did it stay down?"

"About five minutes," Charlie said with a grimace and Blake nodded, assuming that much.

"Okay. Let me get you something stronger."

He stood and heard Charlie mutter under his breath. It sounded a lot like "not going anywhere".

Lucien headed to his office, giving a wide berth to the living room. He looked through his drug cabinet until he found the right bottle. Grabbed a syringe and some alcohol wipes and headed back up the stairs. But as he passed the living room, he was a bit taken aback by the silence. Grimacing, Blake took a step back and peered inside the room.

He felt a bit of relief when he saw Jean sitting in his chair, sipping tea and throwing occasional glances toward Matthew, who made himself looking busy by reading a book. As far as he saw, there was no blood or tea spilled on the floor.

Blake was about to turn and go back to Charlie, when Jean spotted him.

"How is he?" she asked and Matthew looked up as well.

"Ah, just a bit of a migraine attack. He should be alright tomorrow."

Jean frowned at seeing the supplies in his hand.

"I already gave him some aspirin," she noted, just to be sure. Lucien nodded.

"I know, but it didn't stay down and he can use something stronger."

"Migraine attack?" came from the couch as Lawson put down his book. "Isn't that just something hysterical women get?"

Blake knew Matthew didn't mean it like that. The tone of the question was curious, not of ridicule. But he also knew it was one of the worst things Matthew could have said under these circumstances. Blake opened his mouth to correct him and hopefully avoid bloodbath, but it was too late.

"Excuse me?" Jean asked and the tone made it clear that whoever wanted to get out with skin intact should indeed excuse themselves and leave.

Matthew realized that too. He let out an all suffering sigh and shot Blake a pleading look. Blake noted the seething look on Jean's face and knew a lecture would follow.

"Charlie's waiting for me," he said quickly and mouthed a 'sorry, pal' to Matthew. Then he turned heel, but not before catching sight of Jean crossing her arms and giving Matthew the stink eye.

"Maybe I should call Alice and ask her what did she use last week when she suffered an attack of 'histrionics'."

"Now you know I didn't mean it like that," Matthew hastily tried to do some damage control. Blake snickered as he took the stairs by two. He didn't envy his friend, but the man should have known better. He was just glad Charlie didn't hear the conversation. The smile slipped from Blake's face. He was aware of how much Charlie craved Matthew's approval, and if there was a chance his 'boss' thought he was just being hysterical, he would clam up and wouldn't tell anyone next time he had a headache.

Blake stepped into the room quietly in hopes that maybe Charlie had managed to fall asleep. But the man was sitting on the edge of the bed in exactly the same position Blake left him, back and shoulders tense, as if ready to snap. Blake could hear his controlled breathing even from the door. Well, so much for high hopes.

* * *

Charlie wasn't sure how much time had passed since Blake left the room. He wanted to lie down and just try and fall asleep, but the mere attempt of moving an inch caused a storm inside his brain and he froze, biting down a whimper. This wasn't good. He didn't have this bad a migraine for years now. Last one he could remember was about two years ago when the whole affair with Munro escalated, but then he managed to nip it in the bud rather early and without giving anything away. It helped that at the time Blake was too busy being angry about his letters being intercepted and took no notice of Charlie's absence.

Now he didn't have the luxury though. Charlie messed up, he knew. Ignoring the signs was stupid, but coming home to a house where _everyone _was trying to emulate Sherlock Holmes was just asking for trouble.

Charlie wasn't sure what exactly he was worried about... analyzing his feelings and experiences would take too much effort. Right now he just knew he wanted the pain to stop. And preferably for the world to forget he existed for the next day or two.

He really hoped that Blake didn't go around telling people about Charlie's problem. He had enough experience with being looked down on in his past, thank you very much. No, he wanted to keep this little weakness just to himself. But that was easier said than done if he couldn't even manage to move an inch without risking vomiting all over the carpet.

With gritted teeth, Charlie did the only thing he knew. He sat still and tried to focus on his breathing, nothing else. It didn't do much for the pain but at least the simple act provided some distraction. His mother taught him that when this all started and Charlie found it soothing in its familiarity if nothing else.

When the door finally opened and Blake stepped in, Charlie wasn't sure whether he should shout at the man to get out, leave him in his misery, or cry with relief over someone bringing drugs that could stop this pain. In the end he did neither, just sat there and prayed that Blake had something better than a couple of aspirins to offer.

"Charlie? You alright there?" Blake asked in a low tone as he crossed the room.

Charlie wanted to say yes, of course. He was peachy, never better. But there really was no sense in lying to Blake. Nothing to gain.

"Not really," he said, his voice shaky and too loud for his own head. He winced.

"Let's fix that then, yeah?" Blake didn't expect an answer and Charlie felt the sleeve of his shirt being pulled up, then something cold and wet running over the skin of his shoulder.

"What's that?" he asked and hoped Blake understood, because it came out garbled.

"An injection of dihydroergotamine. Should help with the pain, though it can make you feel more nauseous."

Charlie groaned. He hated being sick to his stomach, but there was hope that if the pain lessened he could fall asleep before it hit him.

"Just a little sting," Blake warned and pushed the needle in. Charlie didn't even flinch. The sting was nothing to the thumping inside his head.

"There, all done," Blake soothed as he pushed a cotton ball against the spot . "It should help soon. Why don't you lie down now?"

"Don't wanna move," Charlie said but he slowly raised his head from his palms, pausing as the room swayed around him, seemingly too bright.

"You'll feel better that way though. Here, let me help."

Charlie grumbled in protest but didn't fight as Blake slowly helped him down, pulling his legs up on the bed and taking off his shoes.

Lying flat didn't seem to help all that much, but at least he didn't have to fight the gravity anymore. Charlie let out a sigh of relief and promptly laid his arm over his eyes, shielding them from any light.

There was a momentary silence interrupted only by the clink of the used supplies as Blake cleaned them up.

"You know there is no shame in admitting you have a migraine, right?" Blake asked and Charlie couldn't stop the snort that escaped him.

"Sure," he said, trying to sound sincere but missing by a mile.

There was a sigh and Charlie could feel the bed dip as Blake sat down on the edge, resting one hand on Charlie's leg. Charlie knew that meant Blake wanted answers and knew right now Charlie didn't have the energy to lie to him. It was a dirty trick, but not really that surprising. After all, Blake lived for solving mysteries.

"How often do you suffer from migraines?"

Charlie decided to humor the man for a bit at least. He could feel the drug starting to work... or maybe it was just wishful thinking, but it felt as if some of the tension in his shoulders eased up a bit.

"Last was about... two years back," Charlie said softly. "Had worse as a kid."

"So you had them quite often before?"

"Mhm," Charlie gave a sound of agreement. "Few a year."

"Why was there no mention of it in your file?"

Charlie sighed.

"Dunno," he muttered.

"Well, you didn't mention them to me either."

Charlie shrugged.

"Didn't want you to make fun of me."

'_Didn't want you to think less of me'_ Charlie added in his mind.

He didn't open his eyes, but he could've sworn Blake had a frown on his face.

"Why would I do that?"

To be fair, Charlie didn't really think Blake would. But he also didn't want to risk if when the migraines weren't an issue anymore.

"Charlie, why would I make fun of you for that?" Blake nudged his leg and Charlie realized he fell silent for a bit longer.

"The last doc did."

More silence, then he heard Blake sigh.

"Then he was an idiot."

Charlie couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.

"Mom thought so too," he said, remembering well the unfortunate visit. Or rather both visits. His smile fell. Too many memories swirled inside his skull.

"When was that?" Blake asked and Charlie knew him well enough by now to note the hint of anger in his voice. He obviously didn't appreciate some doctor making fun of their patient. Or maybe it was just him being protective over Charlie. Both of those thoughts made Charlie feel just a bit better though. More ready to open up and tell the truth.

"I was seven I think," Charlie spoke up, wondering why he didn't just pretend to be sleeping already. But maybe he wanted to hear Blake's opinion, maybe he hoped that the man would tell him something different than the last two doctors.

"What happened?" Blake prompted softly, curious.

"I started having these... headaches. Ray was just born and mom and dad kept fighting over money... the baby always cried... think it was just stress." Charlie paused, waiting for some reaction. Blake hummed, urging him to continue. "I got a real bad one... couldn't get out of bed for two days. Mum got scared, so she took me to the doctor."

Charlie grimaced, his mouth suddenly parched. The arm on his face felt heavy, but when he moved it away, the light from the lamp sent spikes of pain through his skull.

Blake seemed to notice his plight.

"Give me a moment."

He got off the bed and Charlie put the arm back over his face, once again breathing through his teeth to calm the sudden nausea.

"Here... take a few sips. Dehydration doesn't help with the headache either."

Blake helped him move just a bit and nudged a glass of cold water against Charlie's lips. Charlie drank it down greedily, pausing only as Blake pulled the glass away in warning to slow down. Once finished, he lay back down and wanted to cover his face again, when Blake nudged his hand away and put something blissfully cold and dark over his eyes.

"What-"

"Just a wet towel, but it should help with the light sensitivity."

"Thanks," Charlie said with a sigh.

"You were saying something about a visit to an 'idiot' doctor?" Blake reminded Charlie of their earlier conversation. Charlie snorted.

"You're like a bloodhound," he muttered and heard Blake chuckle in reply.

"I'll take that as a compliment. So... what did he say?"

"That I was just a spoiled brat... seeking attention. Trying to get out of school. And that the best medicine would be if my dad took the belt to me."

Charlie waited for a reaction, but Blake was silent. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Did Blake think the same? Was this why he stayed silent?

"Doc?" Charlie asked somehow timidly and he was already reaching up to the towel. Light be damned, he wanted to see Blake's face. A hand stopped him, a soft grip over his wrist pulling his arm to rest back on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I was just trying to keep hold of my emotions. I don't think you would appreciate my raised voice now."

"Huh?"

Charlie was confused. Was the doc mad at him or the other guy?

"I'm rather... unhappy, about such people calling themselves doctors, that's all."

Ah... so it wasn't him. Charlie felt relief.

"I hope... I hope your father didn't take him up on that advice." Blake's voice was tight and Charlie realized he didn't let go of his wrist yet.

"No, he didn't," Charlie reassured the man. "He wasn't even there," Charlie admitted. He was a bit surprised at Blake's assumption that his father would be capable of such things, though on the other hand Charlie had feared the same at some point, so who was he to judge?

"Dad wouldn't hit me."

"Good," Blake said. "Is that the reason why you haven't told me?"

Charlie thought about it.

"One of them I think," he admitted. Because that wasn't the end of it, rather the beginning of his plight.

When they were going home from the doctor that day, Charlie was scared. Scared that the man was right, scared that his mother would believe him after all. Most of all, he was scared that his father would take up the advice and pull the belt on Charlie. His father had never hit any of them, but lately he was more often than not in a bad mood. Charlie could only imagine how such words coming from a _doctor_ might change his father's opinion about corporal punishment. He wasn't about to risk it.

So he begged his mom not to tell him. He swore up and down that he will behave, that he won't get sick any more. Just not to tell dad what the doctor said.

His mother of course knew his father wouldn't react that way and she reassured him as much as she could. But in the end... it was the late thirties and things were different. She also knew how proud Norman Davis was and how wrong he could take some things. She knew he adored his boys, but also knew he wanted them to grow up as strong, not spoiled men.

So she agreed. When they came home, she convinced Norman that all Charlie had was a head cold. That it was nothing to worry about. Norman smiled, ruffled his son's hair and sent him off to do his homework. "See? I told you so." Charlie could still hear those words.

When several months later his head felt like splitting in half and he was sent home from school because he puked in the middle of the class, his mother put him to bed and told Norman that Charlie had a stomach bug. Ever since, Charlie came down with head colds or the flu or any other kid ailment that could be deemed contagious, so his father and little brothers stayed away from him for as long as he needed. It worked pretty well.

Until he hit puberty and a growth spurt. He wasn't the boxing prodigy his father wanted, but Charlie was sure one of his younger brother's would fit that well. Ray was already showing promise and his dad was proudly teaching him the moves, while Charlie watched from the sidelines. He just didn't have that violent streak in him that was necessary for the sport. Now running, that was something different.

Charlie loved running. Put him out on the track and he was golden. He felt free and because he was good enough, he often won. Which meant his father could be proud of him too.

There was a half marathon coming up that allowed participants of all age categories. Charlie begged his mom to let him sign up, he paid the fee with his own pocket money. He trained for it real hard too... spent most of his free time on the track. He wanted to do this... he wanted to win. Because his father was supposed to be there, waiting for him at the finish line.

It didn't help that the marathon happened on one of the hottest days. What was even worse was that Charlie could feel a migraine attack coming. He knew the signs by heart now and his stomach sunk as he woke up that morning with the beginnings of a headache and the weird taste in his mouth. It was no surprise really... he had pushed his body hard for the last few weeks to get into shape and he was stressing about it too. But he wasn't about to give up. He could power through. It's not like he wasn't used to the headaches by now. All he needed was to keep drinking lots of water. Maybe he could steal some of his mom's aspirin. Yes, he would power through.

He almost did it. The migraine hit him full force maybe half a mile from the finish line. Charlie paused to puke on the side of the track. Some people grimaced and made sounds of disgust, but no one really stopped him from continuing. It wasn't like he was the first person to get sick on the track in this heat. it was almost part of the sport. So he trudged on, forcing himself to run, even though he was blinded by pain. But he knew the track by memory now. he didn't even need to see.

He made it to the finish line in good time. He didn't win, but he caught sight of the proud look on his father's face and that was almost worth it.

Until he collapsed few feet from his family, curling up into a ball and grasping at his head.

His father was terrified. His mother just knelt down next to him, soothingly running her hand over his hair.

"Ah Charlie, why didn't you tell me?"

Of course his father wanted to know what was going on.

Charlie didn't remember much from that day. He remembered seeing his dad proud one moment and panicked the next. He saw his two younger brothers looking confused and worried, while his mother just looked tired.

He remembered seeing a doctor that day or the next one when the pain had finally lessened to a manageable level. This time both his parents were there, because his mother told his father everything. At first, Norman was angry. About the doctor's words, about the lies. But then he calmed down and convinced his wife they needed to see someone else. That maybe that guy was just a worthless quack. That what he'd seen on the track wasn't normal and his son shouldn't be going through that.

So they went and Charlie answered all the questions, took all the prodding. But he knew, even before the doctor sat down with his parents that his diagnosis won't be any better than the first one. He knew, because he heard the doctor dictate to his nurse and was quite aware of the looks he was receiving. Still, he wasn't quite prepared for the words that came out of his mouth.

"I'm happy to say that your son seems to be in peak physical condition, Mr. and Mrs. Davis."

"So why does he keep having those headaches?" Norman asked with a frown.

The doctor shrugged.

"Charlie is hitting puberty. Is it possible he is just... playing it up a bit?"

"Excuse me?" Charlie's mom had crossed her arms on her chest, with the same look on her face Jean gave Charlie's boss just a few years later.

"You mean to tell me, my son is _pretending _to be in pain?" Norman asked, looking at the doctor in disbelief.

"Well, I'm not saying he's doing it on purpose. And the pain is definitely real for him. But you might want to consider sending Charlie in for a psychological evaluation. After all... most migraine sufferers are known to be hysterical women or patients suffering from psychological issues or past trauma."

The doctor said this calmly and even had the guts to wink at Norman when he grabbed his wife's arm to stop her from lunging at him. As if to say 'See? Hysterical woman right there.'

They left the doctor's office quickly and in silence. Charlie's mother was seething, but Charlie wasn't bothered by that. After all those years he knew he could count on his mom having his back. He knew she herself suffered from migraines from time to time and so had deeper understanding on the issue. Though he felt angry on her behalf, because she was just called hysterical by someone who should have more respect towards people.

The whole way home, Charlie worried about his father's reaction. He wasn't sure what to expect. Whether disdain, ridicule or simply disappointment. What he got instead was ignorance.

Norman paused in front of their door, waiting until his wife entered the house but blocking the way for Charlie. They stood there facing each other, Charlie still a few inches shorter than his father. Norman put a hand on his shoulder and their eyes met.

"You'll grow out of it, yeah?" It wasn't a question, more like a suggestion.

Charlie swallowed, because he understood what it meant.

He gave a nod.

"Yes, dad."

"Good boy," Norman ruffled his hair and gave him a satisfied smile. "Now go on help your mother with lunch. I need to take Ray to the gym for training."

Another nod and Charlie scurried inside. If he had tears running down his cheek a moment later, he chalked it up to cutting onions. His mom almost believed him.

After that, things went back to normal. Charlie pretended he was fine and his father pretended to believe him. Charlie started developing coping mechanisms, started focusing more on his studies. Lost himself in running. If he couldn't make his father proud any other way, he would at least try and follow in his footsteps as a cop. Maybe then no one would dare call him weak or crazy.

He didn't tell all of this to Blake of course.

"I just didn't want another person call me crazy," he said, weariness coloring his voice. Blake seemed to understand though.

"Well, if anyone tries, I'll be there to explain just how wrong they are," Blake said, giving Charlie's hand a squeeze. "Though I will probably have to stand in line right behind Jean. And let me tell you, after I saw her jump to your defense downstairs, I'm not sure there would be anything left to say."

There was an amused chuckle and Charlie wondered just what had happened downstairs. But the medicine finally kicked in and the pain became dull. The tension from his body left and he felt a little bit like floating.

"Tired," he muttered.

"Then sleep. If you wake up during the night and need another shot, just let me know, okay?"

"Mhm," Charlie gave a slight nod, the towel slipping from his face. He didn't care. The light didn't matter anymore. He turned onto his side, the preferred position for sleeping. There was a tug at his feet and he felt the light covers being thrown over him. Maybe he should've undressed first, but there was no energy or will. He was just enjoying the fact his head wasn't about to explode anymore.

The light clicked off and Charlie risked opening his eyes to a slit. He saw the familiar figure ready to settle down in the chair next to his bed and frowned.

"Doc? Am fine now," he said, confused.

Blake sighed.

"You are. I was just..." Blake waved his hand. "I suppose trying to wait out the storm here."

Charlie chuckled. He couldn't imagine Blake backing up from a fight or running away.

"Doc?"

"Yes Charlie?"

"I'd rather not train a new boss," Charlie said from under hooded eyes and Blake chuckled in understanding.

"Alright. I'll go make sure my future wife won't be accused of manslaughter," he said with a smirk. "Sleep well, Charlie," Blake said and left.

* * *

Charlie woke to the feeling of thirst and a funny taste in his mouth. It took him a moment to become fully awake. His brain felt like it was swimming through molasses and Charlie wondered just what kind of party did he forget. He lie in bed for several minutes, blinking up at the ceiling. The room was mostly dark as someone had closed the curtains. Charlie knew it wasn't him, because he never closed those. With a groan he sat up and looked at the small clock on his bedside table. He blinked.

10:45

He had never slept in this late. If nothing else, the noises in the house managed to wake him up around nine the latest. Charlie got out of the bed and opened the curtains, only to cringe at the bright sunlight streaming in. It was also the moment when he noticed that he had his outside clothes on.

The memories of the last day came rushing back and Charlie groaned, running a hand through his hair. Great, just great. He wasn't sure how much he told Blake, but he remembered the doctor mentioning some tiff between Jean and Lawson. And wasn't that just awesome? Charlie was trying so hard not to lose the respect of the man and he possibly managed to screw it all up within few minutes.

At least the headache was mostly gone. Whatever Blake gave him worked like a miracle. Usually Charlie had to struggle with the pain for at least a day or two, but now he felt almost human. There was still some lingering pain and he felt drained, but it was nothing compared to last night. He could work with this. And he probably should, Charlie thought with a sigh.

He cast a look of longing towards his bed, debating whether to brave the world or give himself few more hours of rest before facing the firing squad. But his stomach growled and he became aware of his body's pressing needs. Bathroom, quick shower and clean clothes and maybe breakfast. That was the main plan for the day before he would even think about damage control.

It was twenty minutes later that he walked down the stairs, wondering at the stillness of the house.

"Anybody home?" he called out, feeling almost eerie. Did everyone just disappear? Or was he still asleep and just dreaming?

"In here," a voice called from the living room and Charlie cringed. Great. The first person to see was the one he dreaded seeing the most. Still, he wasn't a coward and the shower did help wake him up properly. Especially when the water turned cold all of a sudden.

"Hey," Charlie wandered inside and looked around the room. Nope, no one else there, only Lawson. Occupying Blake's favorite chair and working on a crossword puzzle.

"Morning, sunshine," Lawson said and looked up from the puzzle, assessing. "Feeling better?"

Charlie felt a blush of shame on his face.

"Yeah. Sorry for last night, boss... I just..." Charlie wasn't sure what to say. He just had a migraine attack? He just needed break from everything? Especially his boss?

Lawson waved him of.

"No need for apologies. As I was reminded by a fiercely protective lady, you deserve some free time."

"What?" Charlie blinked, feeling terror creeping up his spine. Did Jean talk to Lawson about _that_? "Boss, I-"

But Lawson ignored him. Instead, he pointed towards a pill bottle on the table. "Before I forget, Blake left you some meds in case you still have a headache. One to chase it away, two if it's bad. And there's some coffee in the kitchen. And sandwiches."

Charlie stood there, unsure what to do. He couldn't tell if Lawson was pissed or not. He had his usual 'don't mess with me' face, but he had that most of the time. Except for when he was talking to small children or Alice. His tone seemed to be friendly enough though and Charlie had yet to hear any berating words.

"Uh... thanks," he said as he grabbed the bottle and shook out one pill. He could've gone without but there was still the lingering feeling of pressure and he didn't want to risk a relapse.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, looking around searching for clues.

"They went to the market. Blake wants to see if he can come up with new information and Jean wanted to buy some produce. They should be back soon, if Blake doesn't get distracted or figure out the whole case."

Charlie frowned and wondered why Lawson was just lounging around then. He would've thought the man would be out and about, ready to turn the whole town over and come up with answers before Blake.

"Something the matter, Charlie?" Lawson looked up from the papers in reaction to Charlie's silence.

"Boss... is everything alright?" Charlie asked, his fingers nervously thrumming against the couch he was standing behind.

"Why wouldn't be?" Lawson said, holding Charlie's gaze. Then he sighed and put the papers down.

"I don't know what was said last night, but... I'm sorry for causing trouble. It won't happen again."

"I highly doubt that," Lawson said and his mouth quirked in a smile. "The day you or Blake won't cause any trouble will be the day I retire and eat my hat."

Charlie wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Boss?"

Lawson sighed.

"Matthew."

Charlie blinked.

"What?"

"As it was pointed out to me... this is not the police station. I'm not your boss here. And maybe..." now it was Lawson's turn to nervously thrum his fingers against the armrest. "Maybe it will be easier to remember if you stop calling me boss when we're off duty."

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. He frowned.

"You... you want me to call you _Matthew_?"

Lawson's eyebrows rose.

"Do you have a problem with my name?"

"No, boss, of course not," Charlie quickly reassured him, then cringed. "Matthew." He tried out the name. It felt weird.

"It'll take some time," he admitted sheepishly and Lawson chuckled.

"I bet. But do try it out, especially with Jean around. I swear... that woman knows how to argue."

Charlie chuckled, suddenly wishing he could've been a fly on the wall last night. He was curious just what Jean said to Lawson, but he wasn't suicidal enough to ask. He didn't need to deal with a new headache after all.

"I can believe that," he said fondly and Lawson snorted, grabbing his papers and the crossword.

"Will you need me for anything today, Bo-" Charlie paused. "Matthew?"

It still felt weird, but Lawson didn't seem to mind.

"Nah. Per doctor's orders you have the day off. Clear your head. We will see what ideas Blake comes home with."

Charlie nodded, happy to have a chance to relax. His stomach gave a hungry grumble and he headed to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. He was by the door when Lawson cleared his throat.

"By the way, Rose called."

Charlie turned around, a slight deer caught in the headlight look on his face.

"She will stop by later in the afternoon to return the book you left at her place." Lawson looked up at Charlie from behind the papers. "Anything you want to share, Charlie?" he asked with a smug look.

Charlie swallowed.

"She loves to read?" he tried then before Lawson could react he left the room. He definitely didn't hear the amused chuckle trailing behind.

**The End**


End file.
